New York City, September 2, 2014

[No stars] The long-lost
dog days had trotted up to the door, weeks late and unapologetic,
smelling of decayed things they’d rolled in. Overhead was a bleary
mix of haze and thin unbounded cloud. A blinding glare
reflected off oncoming cars and the surface of a
grime-speckled curbside puddle. Production-crew workers were
sticking greenery into the chain-link fence around the non-public
garden, till it combined with the flourishing street trees to
present a sinister jungle lushness. By midday the sky had settled
out into blue and white, and the heat had not gone much beyond the
earlier unpleasantness. Visible haze had abated at rush hour, but
the air was thick and dead. Down in the subway, the atmosphere
was nauseating, unbreathably thick and laced with rot and air
freshener, or rotted air freshener. Worn-out sunflowers leaned
against a community garden fence, and behind them were dead brown
corn stalks and ragged-looking broccoli. Out in the night, the air
had begun moving, but it was no more refreshing than the stagnant
air had been. On the way back from the supermarket—with bags of
near-overripe fruit and dispiriting vegetables—a sustained wind
blew up the avenue, hot and full of construction dust, raising a
heavier sweat to catch and hold the flying grit.